


Blood of Kings

by grayangel19



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 04:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayangel19/pseuds/grayangel19
Summary: Ozy and Gilgamesh copy pasted into the bloodborne universe for the excuse of using blood magic and beasthood to push the story towards smut.
Relationships: Gilgamesh | Archer/Ozymandias | Rider
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Blood of Kings

Blood of Kings

_“The silver sword is a symbol of a Church hunter. Ludwig was the first of many Healing Church hunters to come, many of Whom were clerics. As it was, clerics transformed into the most hideous beasts."_

The smell was disgusting.

All of Yharnum smelled of something awful now, be it the pyres of the old district, the toxic scum of Hemwick Lane, or the ozone and bizarre, almost perfumed aroma of Upper Cathedral Ward. With the increase in hunts and their resultant violence, the pungent stink of blood was in every gust of wind.

Down here though, in the deep tombs below the city, Gilgamesh was grateful the smell at least came from somewhat normal things. Mold, mildew, cobwebs, and the suffocating clouds of dust that were kicked up with his every stride over the cobblestones. His blade glowed faintly, its polished edge catching the light of the torch in his opposite hand, and every so often it would draw his irritation when the shine hit his eyes. This irritation would have been far less had it not been paired by the continuous insult of his presence in the deep tombs. This was not where he belonged, not really. He belonged at the head of an army, leading brave warriors to cut down and expunge the monsters that haunted this city. It was his entire life, the thrill of battle, and the furious, determined climb up the political ranks of the Healing Church, to hopefully, someday, stand at its peak. But that path was no longer going to be his, not unless he could prove himself.

He had been found wanting. In what manner, Gilgamesh could not guess, but the few pompous bastards that still had authority over him had insisted that he was guilty of some slight, some…corruption. He scowled at the memory, ducking through perhaps the hundredth crumbling archway he’d been through in barely a half day’s expedition. The entire necropolis of old Pthumeru was falling apart, difficult to navigate, and filled to brim with foul and ancient beasts. While none of these were any true challenge to one so divinely mighty as Gilgamesh, they sapped him of his patience, his mental strength as much as his physical, which even he could ill afford if he was going to succeed. The Church had sent him down here to kill something, at least, so he assumed. What other purpose could they have for their greatest warrior in a buried city of dark science and corrupted fiends?

He had walked for hours, striking down lycans, mummified witches, and other more eldritch things with contemptuous ease. Smaller foes died from cleaving flicks of his silver sword, larger ones to the unstoppable thrust of its scabbard, and all were burned to ensure they did not get up to trouble him again. His clothes were heavily soaked in a chaotic splatter of reds, and he found he enjoyed the smell, even as a part of his teachings warned of what it meant. His teeth itched and ached, his nails cut into his palms, and if he allowed himself even a moment of doubt, he would have to admit that he felt small bumps at the top of his skull. Gilgamesh breathed in deeply, savoring the scent, but at the same time clutching his sword all the harder.

“I am a warrior unrivalled,” He growled to the skeletal forms lining the hall. “An icon of strength and courage. If I am corrupted, then so are all the rest, and then it doesn’t matter anyway…”

He considered saying more, finding that at least speaking his fears helped slay his doubt, and ease the boredom. However, he was cut short when a stone under his foot sunk slightly, tripping him and almost sending him sprawling were it not for the explosion that followed. Stone hurtled upwards, shards biting Gilgamesh’s flesh and cutting the thick fabric of his overcoat, even as he fell into the hole the shattered rock left behind.

He fell a considerable distance, several floors, and were it not for his training and significant physical might, he certainly would have been injured. As it was, Gilgamesh was sore and bleeding as he rose and took stock of his surroundings.

The room was small, a forgotten antechamber of a lower level perhaps, but the architecture was unlike anything he recognized. Smooth and precise stones were stacked in perfect alignment, and carved with pictograms like no runes he had ever seen. A single stone chest stood on one side of the room, barely illuminated by his dropped torch. Retrieving his light, Gilgamesh strode over to the chest, hoping to perhaps find some rare treasure or weapon that might make this whole chore more exciting. What he saw made him freeze.

Caryl runes were carved into the stone. Heir. Corruption. Moon. A sequence that ordinarily would have meant nothing to Gilgamesh, but unfortunately this very same sequence had been written on parchment as the only mark of his purpose in the labyrinth. He was considering how to go about opening the container, when the lid began to slide. Stone grumbled against stone for a few moments, before the entire lid, no doubt a considerable weight, was launched to one side, narrowly avoiding slamming into Gilgamesh as he leapt backwards.

From the sarcophagus, climbed a figure, beautiful and lithe, with skin darker than any shade common in modern Yharnum. Plates and pieces of gold adorned his body, and while his tunic and cloak must have once been white, the majority of it was an unnerving pattern of reds and exotic blues that would take months of slaughter to achieve in standard combat.

The man, for it now clearly was a man, regarded Gilgamesh with golden eyes, warm and gentle. He had the grace and air of superiority of one of the nobles of fallen Cainhurst, although he all too clearly had not come from there. Cainhurst had been cleansed, and this man had been buried down here for a long time indeed.

“I hope you brought a sword bigger than that,” the figure said, amusedly, his eyes flicking from Gilgamesh’s blade to his trousers. “Because I fail to see how they could send someone as weak and poorly armed as you to face me and have any hope of success.”

“This sword has been blessed by the highest authority of the Healing Church, and is wielded by the mightiest warrior they’ve ever known,” Gilgamesh retorted, switching his silver blade for his greatsword. “I’ve killed more horrible monsters than you with hairpin, and if I weren’t such a gentleman I could have cut you in two the instant you opened your eyes.”

The man laughed haughtily, a full, rich sound, far more genuine than Gilgamesh had the patience for. His wounds irritated him, and the smell of blood filled his lungs like the promise of a hot meal. His breath was hot, and thick, and sweat slicked his grip on his weapon.

“If you are so confident Mighty Hero,” the man said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Then strike me down now. Swing your sword and see how much good it does you against one so mighty As I, Ozymandias, Devourer of Kings, Scourge of Yg’ypt, Pharaoh of All That Is.”

Gilgamesh roared, his fury at Ozymandias’ disrespect lending weight to an already crushing blow. The full weight of Ludwig’s Holy blade crashed into the monster’s collar, cutting deep into his chest, and sticking hard.

“That! Is how much good it does me, you insufferable bastard,” Gilgamesh spat, glaring into his opponent’s eyes.

The creature called Ozymandias had not moved. He had nearly been cut in two by the force of the blow, but seemed only mildly amused. He raised an eyebrow.

“Pretty good.” Ozymandias said, nodding like an approving tutor. “You got a long way in, but I’m afraid you’ll have to do a lot better than that to hurt my divine self.”

Gilgamesh snarled, his superhuman strength heaving on the blade uselessly. “I’ll spill as much blood as I must to put an end to your pompous behavior!”

“Pompous?” Ozymandias asked, raising an eyebrow. “There is nothing wrong with knowing one’s own superiority. You act no different around the mortals, so I think I’m entitled to do the same around one so far beneath me. Observe.”

In an eyeblink, the noble rushed forward, his jacket flying behind him as he pounded his fist into Gilgamesh’s chest. The blow was significantly stronger than anything Gilgamesh expected out of a creature that looked so human, and he tumbled across the room to crack into the far wall. Blood filled his mouth, and Gilgamesh found his focus, his combat training, slipping away in favor of a different instinct. Hunger. Rage. Bloodthirst.

He coughed, wetly, and winced as his chest stung at the movement. He was wounded. The insolent mongrel dared…?! Grimacing, he pushed himself up the wall. He wasn’t built for this, not on his own. Years of training, and his own superhuman strength were just not enough for something like this. Yet surrender was not an option, impossible for his pride to even consider. If he was going to die here it was going to be fighting. He knew no other way.

He bared his teeth and curled his knuckles, his heart beating fast despite his injuries as he prepared to sell his life for all the blood he could spill.

“I’m not some fragile doll.” Gilgamesh growled, vitae oozing between his teeth as he spoke. It tasted sweet. “It will take more than a pitiful punch like that to take me down.”

He rushed forward, bellowing his hatred, his contempt, his defiance at the specter of death that so arrogantly regarded him from across the room. He leapt forward, jaws open, his fingers reaching desperately for something to crush, to break in his grasp.

Until the last moment, Ozymandias did not move, merely observing Gilgamesh’s charge with a smirk. Then, when Gilgamesh’s growing claws were inches from his neck, he moved. Not to dodge the blow, but to move towards it. Only the tiniest part of Gilgamesh’s thoughts even noticed the danger, the newly slit pupils of his red eyes widening in a moment of fear before it happened.

Gilgamesh’s claws tore into Ozymandias’ throat, inhuman ichor rolling down the pharaoh’s garb, even as the thick length of his own sword handle punched clean through his chest. He howled, smashing his horned skull against his foe’s face, struggling to tear great pieces from him, all but consumed by beasthood.

“So this is why they sent you to me. To use me as a disposal for the worst beast they could imagine. How insulting.” Ozymandias whispered. His gaze softened for a moment, before a thunderous fist hit Gilgamesh’s jaw. It stunned him, ceasing his furious thrashing long enough for Ozymandias to tackle him, pinning the transformed warrior to the stones.

“But I am no friend of the church, and I’ll not be manipulated like some idiot dog. Not like you’ve been.” Firmly, but not without tenderness, Ozymandias forced Gilgamesh’s head to the side, leaning down next to his ear. “And I think I could do with a new companion. It’s been terribly lonely down here.”

Golden ichor ran down the sword handle, sizzling as it touched the hole in Gilgamesh’s chest. He groaned, weakly trying to push Ozymandias off, only for him to push in deeper.

“It hurts I know,” The pharaoh said, softly. “But if I let you continue down this path I’ll be left with a pet rather than a partner, so please, find some of that heroic strength for just a moment more.”

He closed the last of the distance between them, their chests pressing together completely as the blood of a divine being mixed with that of a fallen king. Gilgamesh screamed silently, invisible waves of power rolling out from him as the curse of the beast was burned away. He thrashed, his movements shattering stones and clawing the walls, but failing to dislodge his tormenter.

When at last it was over, Ozymandias rose, pulling the sword from his chest and hurling it aside in contempt, breaking a hole into an adjacent chamber. Gilgamesh lay unconscious beneath him, his wounds healed, but not all of his beasthood had left him. His eyes remained slits, his teeth and nails were still sharp, and small antlers poked through his fluffy golden hair. His clothes were little more than rags, and his muscles shone with sweat through the tears in the fabric. Ozymandias picked him up as gently as he could manage, carrying the exhausted warrior through the hole he had made, and into the palace beyond.

The tombs beyond the chamber where they had fought were no less ornate. Great stone pillars held up the ceiling, so high above that it could not be seen. Torches burned in their holders, light shining off decorations of obsidian, lapis, and gold. Great mounds of treasure, precious metals, armor, and the mummified bodies of thousands of long dead supplicants surrounded the entrance to a grand underground temple. Stone statues taller than most houses in Yharnum stood as guards, depicting the Pharaoh Ozymandias in his aspect as a warrior. The true pharaoh strode between the sentinels, and deep into his buried palace before laying Gilgamesh to rest on a lounge within the main throne room. It would be a while before the defeated king would awaken, but Ozymandias was content to wait. His kingdom had been buried deep, and would always be so. There was no way to bring it back to the surface, but now at least, he would have company.

Hunger

Hunger was what woke Gilgamesh. His stomach ached in protestation of its emptiness.

Yet even as his eyes flickered open, his other senses returning to him as he rose, he found he could not think of what he wanted to eat. Nothing came to mind as a way to ease the pain.

He looked around the chamber, confused at such foreign structures and his presence within. His last memories had been of battle, but this was like no afterlife he had heard of.

Beautifully colored tapestries hung between grand pillars, and distantly Gilgamesh could hear water running, a fountain perhaps somewhere removed from his current location.

He was so lost in his strange surroundings, that it was a few moments before he felt someone’s gaze running over him.

The pharaoh, Ozymandias was seated on an elevated throne, staring at him with an amused smile, like a child that has just found a long lost favorite toy.

“Enjoying the view?” he asked playfully, shifting his position to expose more of himself to Gilgamesh’s angle of view. “You’re the first person to see it in thousands of years, so please, appreciate it in place of its long lost citizens.”

The pharaoh was still clothed in red, but the material was strange, like no cloth Gilgamesh was familiar with. Although woven like a suit, the material seemed to squirm, to writhe, and pale blue tendrils crept over it, pulsing gently….like veins…like it had a heartbeat. Gilgamesh’s lip curled in disgust, even as a strange wave of connection hit him. He remembered the pharaoh as a monster, something disgusting but now…his heart beat faster, the pain in his stomach pulsed gently, and were he to view himself from outside, Gilgamesh would have seen his slit pupils grow wide at the sight of Ozymandias’ face.

As Ozymandias began to descend the steps towards him, Gilgamesh felt his heart rate continue to grow, beating louder and louder in anticipation of something he could not describe. A sense that the ancient king was comforting, and that it was better the closer Gilgamesh could be to him.

He drew within an arms length of Gilgamesh before stopping, crossing his arms and flicking his eyes over Gilgamesh’s ragged clothes and exposed skin underneath.

“You are hardly dressed appropriately for a guest in my domain. You should either wear something finer, or nothing at all. Come with me.”

“I’ll not be ordered around by someone like you, insolent cur!” Gilgamesh growled, even as his stomach turned at the words, as if he might be sick.

Ozymandias raised an eyebrow. “It was not an order, it was an ultimatum. You will either come with me and find proper garb, or you will wear only the skin on your back, and not even that if you continue to be so stubborn.”

Despite himself, Gilgamesh found himself excited, if only for a moment, at the prospect of wearing nothing in this situation. The better to-

“I will cooperate.” Gilgamesh blurted, cutting off the thought. “I will not be left exposed like something inhuman.”

Ozymandias smirked, beckoning him to follow.

After passing through a maze of chambers, some large some small, some seeming to reach up an infinite height to the cavern ceiling far above, they came to a bedchamber. Ozymandias began shuffling through clothing in a rotting wooden chest, holding each one up to Gilgamesh before casting them aside in disgust.

“Nothing here is suitable for you. Perhaps something from one of my consort’s selection?”

Gilgamesh choked for a moment, baring his teeth. “I’d rather go naked before im seen in women’s garb.”

The pharaoh huffed, glancing sideways at Gilgamesh. “A shame. That would have been a sight to see. But…naked it is.”

Before the ragged warrior could protest, his shredded clothing was torn from him, his indignation mixing with erotic pleasure, because after all, hadn’t he wanted this…just a little?

“What is the meaning of this?? Don’t think you can lay your hands on me so casually mongrel!!”

He struck the pharaoh across the jaw, sharp claws drawing blood from his cheek even as Ozymandias was knocked face first onto the bed.

Gilgamesh was surprised. He had struck the pharaoh with all his strength before with no effect, yet now he was stronger, perhaps on equal terms. He could fight him. He could kill him. He could…

The hero’s thoughts were interrupted as the scent of blood hit his nose. Not just any blood. Ozymandias’ blood. His emotions became cloudy, twisted, perverted, as his thirst to dominate was repurposed for something all together different from monster slaying. Where before Gilgamesh had wanted to drive his sword into the pharaoh until there was nothing left, now he wanted to fill him with something altogether different.

He roughly grabbed Ozymandias by the hips, and had he not been so focused, the lack of objection from the pharaoh might have given Gilgamesh cause for suspicion. Instead he pulled Ozymandias towards him, eager fingers tugging at the pharaoh’s trousers before shoving them down around his ankles.

Gilgamesh moved to force himself in, when Ozymandias spun abruptly, taking Gilgamesh’s face in one firm hand, and holding the other up to his nose. “Not so savagely now, great hero. I told you, I want a companion, not a pet. Any man in the city could just take me. Is that really all you have to offer to me?”

Ozymandias’ yellow eyes glared hypnotically into Gilgamesh’ own, and somewhere in his bewitched mind, the message was received. “Be gentle.”

The warrior nodded slowly, pushing his head forward to rub his cheek against his partner’s. He could do that, but he was still going to end this the same way.

He struggled with the clasps at Ozymandias’ shirt, and eventually gave up, tearing the rest of them open to expose the pharaoh’s chest, even as Gilgamesh began dragging his fingers slowly over the bare skin.

He kissed, he bit, just hard enough to leave marks. He worked his way from Ozymandias’ jaw, down his neck, and over his entire chest. The pharaoh gasped softly as Gilgamesh pulled him close, holding the pharaoh’s ass in both hands, their bare chests brushing against each other.

Nor was Ozymandias a passive partner. He interrupted Gilgamesh frequently to kiss him, two sets of sharp teeth clicking against each other as they made out. However many marks Gilgamesh left on Ozymandias’ flesh, the pharaoh returned the favor twice over, the pharaoh leaving bites that bled softly down Gilgamesh’s neck and collar.

Despite the exertion, Ozymandias did not increase in heat levels, even as Gilgamesh became a blazing furnace in contrast. He squeezed his eyes shut, nuzzling his head against Ozymandias’ cheek as he clasped him closer, panting softly into the pharaoh’s shoulder.

For a moment, they simply held each other close, hands exploring over untouched skin with care. Then, feeling he had accomplished the request, Gilgamesh began to push his way into Ozymandias, firmly squeezing the pharaoh’s ass as his dick pushed in. Ozymandias gasped, protests spilling out of him only to be cut off by Gilgamesh pushing the pharaoh down even harder. Ozymandias gritted his teeth, nails scratching against his partner’s shoulders as he made futile efforts to lift himself off Gilgamesh’s dick.

Slowly at first, Gilgamesh began to build a rhythm, pushing in and out of Ozymandias’ ass, firmly preventing the pharaoh from either escaping, or speeding up his attentions.

“Don’t…keep me waiting…for another thousand years” Ozymandias muttered, pressing kisses to Gilgamesh’s forehead.

The hero chuckled, leaving a bite and a darkening bruise against the pharaoh’s throat. “Very well…I’ll keep you waiting for nine hundred just for that, for your insolence.”

Ozymandias hissed, taking Gilgamesh’s jaw in his hands, no doubt about to protest before Gilgamesh abruptly sped up his pace, lowering the pharaoh onto the bed and taking hold of his hips.

Ozymandias whined, his feet kicking behind Gilgamesh, his fingers clutching at the sheets as he struggled not to get pushed away with each hard thrust.

When Gilgamesh finally finished, making the pharaoh moan as he pulled out, he climbed onto the bed, pulling Ozymandias close against his chest.

“You will tell no one of this, mongrel” Gilgamesh whispered, pressing his lips to the back of Ozymandias’ neck, pulling the pharaoh’s ass up against his dick.

Ozymandias chuckled, pulling Gilgamesh’s arms around him, holding them against his chest. “Who would I tell? A monster such as I could never escape under the guard of such a mighty hero.”

“Then I will keep watch over you until the end of time. And a thousand years beyond that.”

“At least it will not be a lonely imprisonment. Perhaps you will make a proper companion after all.”

The world above never heard from the hero Gilgamesh again. He was declared lost in glorious battle against a great evil, a martyr against the increasing monstrosities that plagued the city. As the high echelons of the Church transformed or were slain, so was knowledge of what he was sent to destroy lost to history. Dust settled on the city, fires died, and beasts roamed the streets, but deep underground, in a city untouched by moonlight, a warrior and a pharaoh held each other close, through every precious moment of the Night that Never Ends.

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably get added to a list somewhere of crossover's nobody expected, but i hope i did it justice and that you enjoyed it. If not, please advise on what could be altered or added to improve its quality in your eyes.


End file.
